Bifalt hunched closer to the fire. His voice was a low growl. “You will not die if you keep your distance. My men and I will bear the brunt.” His riflemen and the Magisters. “I want you behind us.”

Jaspid sat up straighter. As he considered his brother’s intentions, he seemed to grow sharper, whetted by a born fighter’s eagerness. Elgart scowled skeptically, but he did not object.

Suti al-Suri was openly appalled. “Brother want el-Algreb safe?”

“No,” admitted Bifalt. “I want you to guard our backs. But the choice is yours. There will be other battles.”

For a moment, he let his long anger speak. “Those men are slaves, Suti al-Suri. I do not care how many of them we kill. I do not care if we kill any of them. I want the priests.

“I am going to drive straight at them until we are close enough to shoot them. While we do that, I hope that you can keep their slaves from surrounding us.”

The chief warrior muttered to himself for a moment. Then he rose to his feet. Fiercely, he answered, “You want save el-Algreb. You insult. We fearless. We ally.”

Whirling away, he went to rejoin his people.

At once, Magister Brighten demanded, “What of us, Majesty? What do you expect Crawl and me to do?”

King Bifalt grimaced. Even when his only desire was to kill sorcerers, he needed sorcery on his side. He took a moment to compose himself. Then he replied brusquely, “Ride with me, Magister. You may be more effective than we are.

“As for you,” he told Magister Crawl, “stay back. Use your Decimate. Protect us from those globes.”

If even one of the exploding balls hit the riflemen or the el-Algreb—

Magister Brighten’s eyes burned. She looked ready to fry any number of priests. And Magister Crawl summoned a measure of confidence.

“Can it be done?” Elgart sounded rueful, as if he were letting go of something precious. “We have too many foes.”

King Bifalt ground his teeth until his jaws ached. “We can only do what we can do. If we fail, no one can fault us.”

Elgart released a musing breath. “You forget, Majesty. I have seen you do more than you can. I was there when you took your first step toward an alliance with Amika.”

At that time, Amika was Belleger’s only enemy.

Bifalt spread his hands: a gesture of helplessness. He had no answer.

“In any event”—Prince Jaspid stood like a blade swept out of its scabbard—“we will do more than Rile believes we can.” He sketched a bow to his brother. “I must speak with the men, Majesty. They will need their orders.”

Despite his well-known reluctance for the task, he had become a commander.

At once, Elgart rose. “The Prince will make it sound like a glorious death.” He chuckled sourly. “Someone should remind them to clean their guns.”

When Jaspid walked away, Elgart followed him.